Never Say Never
by volley
Summary: "I guess we'll never know what this is..." - A new adventure for the Disaster Twins, and Drown Malcolm Month
1. Chapter 1

Grateful thanks, as always, to my beta readers, Gabi2305 and RoaringMice.

* * *

><p>§ 1 §<p>

Trip stopped at the fork in the shrubby path, looked intently in the direction they were _not_ to take, down the stretch that sloped gently on the right, then turned. "Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" he asked in a voice that said it all.

Malcolm's glance should have been just as eloquent had Trip not returned, in the meantime, to look the other way, to the gorgeous scenery at the end of that sloping stretch of path. Water, as far as the eye could see. Trip licked his lip in unconscious anticipation.

Malcolm sighed. He was going to have to spell it out. "We can't," he said. "We must-"

"Okay, okay," Trip put in quickly. And, passing the back of one hand over his sweaty brow, he added in a resolute voice, "On our way back, then."

It was hot as hell on this planet, and Malcolm could see how the small bay below could make Trip's mouth water. Set in a cosy semicircle framed by pinkish rocks, a beach of white pebbles lapped by water that was crystal clear and a stunning turquoise seemed to say _come down and take a dip_. Especially nice, at least in Malcolm's view, was the fact that said water was as still as that of a swimming-pool and looked quite shallow. It was such a fairy-tale place that Malcolm had to admit, for once he was tempted as well.

"I bet if we told the Capt'n about it, he'd come down in no time," Trip said with a chuckle.

That Malcolm could well believe. He smiled. "He'd probably even set aside his aversion to the transporter." He gave his friend and superior officer a gentle nudge to indicate they should resume their way, and with a sigh Trip complied.

As he followed suit, Malcolm forced his mind back to the job at hand: keeping them safe on this alien world. T'Pol had assured it was uninhabited, but a path was evidence that someone had at least _been_ there at some time, wasn't it? The question required no answer, but Malcolm had no time to give it any thought anyway, for Trip interrupted his musings.

"Ya know what it reminds me of?" the man cast over one shoulder.

"_What_ reminds you of _what_?" Malcolm grunted. He felt sweaty and sticky, and not up to wasting energy in conversation. He was surprised that Trip could find his cheerful self in this torrid heat. The man was known to do badly in hot temperatures. It must have been the sight of the water...

"That beach. It reminds me of a beach in Florida I used to go to when I was about eleven."

Great. There would be no stopping him now.

"Not that that beach had much in common with this one," Trip, indeed, went on obliviously. "Quite different, in fact: lots of sand and no rocks. But it was cosy and deserted, just like this one. And I loved it."

Yes, Malcolm secretly agreed: a deserted beach was a lot better than a crowded one.

"Oops." Trip stumbled but managed to keep his balance. "Watch out for that root."

"Thanks."

Before Trip could walk off again, Malcolm caught him by one arm. "Shouldn't I go first, Commander?"

"If ya want," quite unexpectedly Trip replied; and with a shrug he let them switch position.

Imagine the Security Officer tripping over a root, rolling down the slope and maybe breaking something. Malcolm shuddered as a disastrous chain of imaginary events crossed his pessimistic mind. He allowed the beach issue to pierce that train of thoughts. Yes, he had gone to a little solitary beach too, in his youth. But come to think of it... Trip, at eleven, liking a _solitary_ place?

"Mind you," Trip went on cheerfully behind him, "it didn't stay cosy and deserted for long, after our gang discovered it."

Ah. Of course. More like it. Surely Trip wouldn't have been the kind of eleven-year-old who looked for an out-of-the-way place where to be alone with his thoughts.

"But some of the best times were when I went there with my best pal, just the two of us.

Best pal. Malcolm pushed aside the branches of a bush and held them so they wouldn't whip back on… well, yes, his _best pal_.

"Thanks," Trip drawled. Releasing the branches after him, he went on, "We'd swim and then lie on the warm sand and talk, and-"

A chirrup interrupted Trip's reminiscence. Malcolm stopped. Trip was already unzipping his left arm pocket and retrieving his communicator, which he opened with a flick of the wrist.

"Tucker."

"Trip, how's it going?" Archer's voice enquired.

"Peachy. It's as hot as the Nevada desert. Just much more humid."

"I didn't call to ask about the weather, Commander," Archer's voice came back, in mild rebuke.

Trip winked mischievously at Malcolm. "Then I take it you're not interested in the tourist info either, Sir?"

"Trip..."

The hint of warning in the Captain's voice became more pronounced, but Trip still took no notice of it. "Too bad," he replied jocularly. "If one needed some R&R there are some real nice places down here."

Malcolm shook his head in disbelief. He could never speak to the Captain like that, not in a million years – on the other hand, he wasn't Archer's friend, like Trip was. He crossed his arms over his chest, while Trip finally glided into Commander mode.

"We're en route for the spot," he said. "So far so good."

"I thought you'd landed pretty close to the place," Archer came back.

"As close as we could. Ten, fifteen minutes tops and we'll be there, Capt'n."

"All right. Keep your eyes open."

Trip's eyes, indeed, opened wide and rolled, and Malcolm saw a humorous glint in them as they ran to him. "Well, that's why you sent the Security Officer along, isn't it."

"Everything is under control, Sir," Malcolm butted in. He wondered what Archer's call was all about. The planet, after all, _was_ uninhabited, as T'Pol had ascertained, so the Captain shouldn't be so concerned. But maybe it was the fact that the _Disaster Twins_, as some of the crew called him and Trip when they left the ship together, were out on a mission.

"Good," Archer came back. "Keep it that way."

Trip gave a sharp nod. "Aye, Sir. Tucker out."

Malcolm consulted his scanner. "Come on. Not too far, now."

The path descended gently and lost itself into tall grasses of various shades of yellow, through which they would have to wade. Not a happy prospect; who knew what could crawl under there. Malcolm kept his scanner well in front of him and his left hand on the butt of his phase pistol.

"My buddy and I used to play games too," Trip resumed, continuing his recollection of old times.

"Really," Malcolm mumbled. His mind was only tenuously connected to his ears. Or better: his ears were only tenuously tuned to Trip's voice.

"We'd dive under the water, and then one would say something that the other had to try and understand. Or we'd throw a stone in the water and see who could find it first, without coming up for air."

Bloody hell, tuned enough to know _he_ – Malcolm – had never played those kinds of games. At the age Trip was talking about, his aqua-phobia had already surfaced – no pun intended – and done its ugly damage. Before Malcolm's eyes, the scanner's readings bled into a picture of himself at eleven, sitting on a beach of greyish pebbles, hugging his knees tightly. He'd spent a lot of time spying his enemy, looking at the sea from a safe distance, brooding over the curse of being the aqua-phobic only son of a Royal Navy admiral. In other words, feeling wrong and inadequate, and unable to do anything about it – something he still hadn't completely succeeded in shaking off.

"Can that be it?" Trip suddenly said.

Refocusing on the present, Malcolm raised his gaze from the scanner and stopped. "Must be."

Trip came up beside him. In the distance, the tall grasses receded and the path reappeared. It led to a roundish spot where the grass seemed not to grow. It was scattered with the something that had attracted their attention from orbit.

"Huh. Man-made, ya reckon?" Trip wondered.

"Difficult to say. But that's what we're here to find out."

Silently, they closed the remaining distance. Both Malcolm and Trip had their scanners out now, taking readings as they approached. Malcolm stopped them a few metres from the clearing, wanting to make sure nothing untoward would come to them if they got any closer.

"Metal," he heard Trip say. "Like T'Pol said."

"Inert, it would seem," Malcolm added, finally lowering his instrument to take his first good look at the place. The clearing, in a radius of a few metres, was strewn with what looked like contorted tongues of metal.

Trip moved closer. "T'Pol says she couldn't find anything like this anywhere else on the planet," he said. He lowered to his haunches and reached out.

"Perhaps you shouldn't touch it," Malcolm quickly cautioned.

"Oh, come on, Malcolm! You spoil all the fun."

Trip ran a slow hand over one of the pieces of metal. "Rough," he commented.

Malcolm circled around a few of the objects, taking more readings. He couldn't decide whether they had been created by an intelligent mind or were the work of nature.

"Well, at least we can be sure that these aren't pieces of wreckage," Trip said. "I guess we oughtta tell the Capt'n."

Malcolm turned abruptly, clapping a hand to his forehead. "Bloody hell! We promised to page him the moment we got here."

With an unperturbed smile, Trip pushed back up and retrieved his communicator. "Tucker to Enterprise." He didn't have to wait long for a reply.

"Report, Commander."

"Well, Capt'n, it's no crash site, that much is sure." Trip passed a hand through his hair, and a rivulet of sweat escaped from it, running down his temple. "They appear to be just pieces of metal, all twisted and contorted."

"There are no pock marks on them, no evidence of weapons' fire, Sir," Malcolm added. "They could be a natural occurrence; although, seen as they are set in a clearing, I'm more prone to think they have been put here by someone."

"Any writings?" Archer enquired.

"Not that we can see," Trip replied.

There was a moment of silence.

"All right," Archer finally came back. "Upload the readings, take some pictures, and get back. Enterprise out."

Trip closed the communicator and looked at Malcolm. "You heard the man," he sighed. "I'll take the pics, you do the uploading."

TBC

Always glad to receive a review


	2. Chapter 2

§ 2 §

"What d'you make of them?" Trip wondered, lowering his camera. "They sure are strange, these things, whatever they are."

They had worked in silence for a few minutes, and Malcolm looked up to see an intense frown crown his friend's usually carefree blue eyes. "Could be a work of art," he suggested.

"Representing _what,_ exactly?"

"Ah, well, your guess is as good as mine, though I can think of more than a few examples of modern art for which I'd be hard pressed to find a title."

Trip chuckled. "Good point." he said, with a nod. He raised the camera one more time. "I guess we'll never know what this is."

"Never say never," Malcolm chimed. Pocketing his scanner, he watched Trip take another few pictures. "Are you done, Commander?" he finally asked.

"Yup."

* * *

><p>"So, did ya go to beaches when you were young?"<p>

As they waded through the tall yellow grasses again, retracing their steps, Malcolm bit his lip. Trip's mind had obviously returned to the crystal-clear waters of the white beach. And he didn't really like where this conversation might go.

"Yes," he muttered back.

"And what are the beaches like in England – the ones you went to, anyway?"

His honesty be damned! He should have said 'no, I never went to a beach in my life'. "Grey," Malcolm spat out, and instantly realised his terseness would cause even more damage. Great.

Trip, indeed, raised his antennae. "Sounds like you didn't very much enjoy them," he commented. There was no question mark at the end of the sentence, but there might as well have been.

Malcolm pretended to be absorbed in his job. Not that his heart was in it much, with Trip continually distracting him like this and sending his memory down paths he'd much rather forget. The stalling tactics worked but for a minute or so. Well, trust Trip to know when something was bothering someone.

"Malcolm? You okay?"

Malcolm sighed. "May I remind you we aren't exactly on a pleasure trip, Commander? I can't do my job if you keep talking to me."

"Aw, come-on. Who do you think you're kiddin'?" Trip retorted. Benevolently, he added, "But if you don't want to tell me what's up, that's okay too." To himself, but loud enough for Malcolm to hear, he muttered, "Wonder what happened on those beaches..."

Malcolm felt a wry smile curve his lips. If ever Trip lost his job he should consider a career as a psychologist. Malcolm wasn't keen, however, on letting more people in on his secret. Therefore he bottled-up the little voice in him that wanted him to cry out 'I'm a bloody aqua-phobic idiot – that's what's up!' and pushed on.

Trip didn't say anything more and they walked in silence. This planet's thin air made climbing up the gentle decline a more tiring affair than it normally would have been for officers in shipshape form. Malcolm could hear Trip's slightly heavier breathing behind him. Maybe that was what was keeping the man quiet... They were almost out of the tall grasses now. The little white beach was not very far away. Soon they'd be at the top of the hill; another ten minutes and they'd be at the fork in the path. He didn't want to go to the beach. Perhaps he should just make a clean breast of it. How difficult could it be?

Malcolm filled his lungs and straightened his shoulders. "Look, Trip," he started, as he emerged on the path again, "the thing is —"

A familiar chirrup interruped his awkward confession.

"Tucker."

"How are things going down there, Commander?"

"Smooth as a baby's bum, Capt'n. Could almost say mission accomplished."

"Are you on your way back?"

Archer's voice still had that edge to it. Malcolm made to stop, but Trip gave him a good-natured shove, making him stumble forth.

"Yessir."

"Good."

The Captain sounded somewhat relieved.

"Ah – Capt'n... remember Risa?"

Oh, hell. Malcolm ran a nervous hand through his hair. Risa had been the single most embarrassing moment of his entire career.

There was a short but meaningful pause before Archer's wary voice came back.

"Don't tell me you and Malcolm have lost your clothes again."

Trip laughed out loud, oblivious to Malcolm's rising blush. "No, Sir. I mean..." Trip scratched his head. "Remember Risa's beaches? Remember what a great time you had? "

"Get to the point, Commander."

"There's a gorgeous little beach smack on our way, Capt'n, and it's awfully hot on this rock of a planet."

The gorgeous little beach was now in full view. Malcolm felt Trip's hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"I don't suppose we could take a quick dip?" the man said, almost beseechingly. "There are no dangers down here, and it won't take more than ten minutes, cross my heart."

There was another pause, this one a little longer. "I don't know, Trip," Archer finally replied, wary once again.

His cautious tone of voice had nothing to do with the _Disaster Twins_ now – Malcolm knew. It had to do with a certain revelation made on the hull of Enterprise by a desperate officer who thought he'd got to the end of the line. He felt his blush deepen. "It's really quite hot here, Sir," he blurted out, to keep that demon at bay.

"Malcolm?"

Damn it, why did Archer have to be so obvious? Malcolm tried to ignore Trip's frown. The man was clearly puzzled by the unspoken subtext.

"What I'm saying," Malcolm went on under the pressure of that frown, "is that... I can't say I'd mind."

Sodden idiot. He'd put himself in a corner all right. What had happened to Malcolm Reed the tactician?

It took Archer even longer to come back to that, but finally he said, "All right, then. But no more than ten minutes, you two."

"Yippee!" Trip cheered. "Thank you Capt'n!"

Malcolm only managed a pale smile.

* * *

><p>Trip had taken the lead down the path to the beach, and Malcolm had let him, too displeased about his mismanagement of the circumstances to say anything. The man was in one of his ebullient moods. There was a bounce in his step, making it tiring to keep up with him.<p>

"Gotta say, that was unexpected," Trip said.

Oh, yes. Happiness sprang from his every pore.

"He's that type of captain," Malcolm commented darkly. Archer's peculiar style of command might have saved his hide that time with that Romulan mine, but he still disapproved of it, thought it was too lax.

A hearty laugh met his words. "No, I meant _you_, supporting my request." Trip half-turned to shoot him a probing look. "I thought you'd have come up with some excuse to go back, Loo-tenant. 'Cause somethin' was bothering you, that I'm sure of."

_You don't say!_ Malcolm counted to ten, inhaled deeply and opened his mouth to speak the fatal words, but Trip had turned back and quickened his pace once again.

"Will ya look at that!" the man exclaimed, virtually running around the last bend and emerging onto the beach. "I'll be damned. It's too good to be true!"

They stood still for a moment, taking the place in.

Malcolm's gaze immediately ran to the water. It was perfectly flat and of an intoxicating turquoise. He could see no life in it, but his hand went mechanically to his pocket, feeling the reassuring shape of his scanner – he had every intention of using a more scientific method than mere sight to ascertain the presence or not of any creatures, before Trip put even one toe in the water. His eyes then moved to the pinkish rocks framing the perfect semicircle; they were large and rounded, with tufts of vegetation in between. At last he looked down at his feet. The white pebbles where all the same size, all flat and oval. He slowly went down on his hunches and picked one up, turning it in his hand: it was peppered with tiny light-blue dots, which could be seen only from this close. From a standing position he had thought the pebbles to be completely white.

"It's beautiful," he blurted out. And it was. His bad mood was gone, as if this place had him under a spell. Indeed, he hadn't been this relaxed around water in a long time. He felt Trip move and looked up to see that he had started to pull off his clothes.

"Ten minutes..." the man said, his voice muffled, coming from inside his khaki uniform top.

Malcolm stood up abruptly. "Hold on a second. First let me scan the water."

"'Kay but do it fast, Malcolm. Time's awastin'."

Trip kicked off his boots and started to pull off a sock, hobbling on one leg, and Malcolm couldn't help but smile at his kid-like excitement. "Easy, Commander," he teased him, "there is no beautiful alien waiting for you in the water..."

"Never ya know," was the chimed reply.

Chuckling, Malcolm approached the shoreline, scanner in hand. Talk of crystal-clear water... He could count each pebble through it. "Well," he said, studying his readings, "I don't see any, and the scanner confirms it: no mermaids of any sorts." He turned to find Trip stripped down to his underpants and sporting a smile that went from ear to ear. Malcolm mirrored it. "H2O, 25 degrees celsius, no mammals, no fish, no dangerous bacteria. Have fun."

Trip rubbed his hands and stepped up to the water, testing it with a tentative foot. Then he waded in a few steps, till the water was up to his thighs. Ripples ran out from him in concentric circles, chasing each other. A second later he had plunged head first. Malcolm watched him with a bit of envy slide with powerful strokes under the surface. He looked so at ease! Finally he re-emerged, a few meters further away from the shore. He stood up, chest-deep now, and passed a hand through his wet hair. "Aren't you coming?" he shouted, "This is awesome!"

Malcolm was suddenly aware of the perspiration trickling down his back. The one case when he didn't mind water was when it served to make him feel clean. The prospect of a quick dip, actually, wasn't all that bad, given the circumstances. What could happen in waters that were clear, still, uninhabited and rather shallow? It would be like taking a bath. Even he could tackle that.

* * *

><p>"Holy cow, Malcolm, how can you still be standing there?"<p>

Malcolm was knee-deep in water, arms wrapped around his torso. Once he had undressed and gone that far, he had lost his momentum. This was quite refreshing already; was it really necessary to go any further?

"Here, let me help you," Trip called out. And running one hand in a fast semicircle in front of him, he raised a spray that fanned out and crashed into Malcolm, wetting him.

"Hey!"

Malcolm responded in kind, kicking up with one foot and spraying Trip in the face. Wrong move. A moment later Trip dived under. Malcolm watched his form approach, a torpedo aimed at his legs. Hurriedly, he tried to back up, but lost his balance and crashed loudly in the water. Trip emerged and started to laugh. Sitting up chest-deep in water, Malcolm joined in. Maybe it was this magical place, or Trip's reassuring presence near him, but he felt quite relaxed. Usually in similar circumstances he'd be experiencing a choking knot in his throat and a weight in his guts, and he'd be panting for air, but not now.

"Come on, Lieutenant," Trip said, "I'll race you to that rock."

Malcolm tensed at once. "Ah – no, thanks," he said with a faint smile. "I'm quite happy where I am."

"What's the matter, afraid you'll lose?"

Malcolm's brain scrambled for a credible reply. It could be the truth, of course, but... "Look," he said, stifling his conscience, "this is supposed to be ten minutes of R&R, right? That, in my book, doesn't include a race. Especially on a planet where the air is thin."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Yes, grandpa," he teased. Then turned and dived again.

Malcolm blew out a breath of relief. He might just pull this off with his honour intact. That annoying voice immediately objected that the honourable thing to do would have been to confess his problem, but he silenced it once again. There was nothing wrong with keeping his personal problems personal.

He moved his legs and pushed up with his hands, and right away he was afloat. So easy. Yes, in a meter of water it was. But out there, where Trip...

Malcolm's heart missed a beat. Where was Trip? His eyes scanned the place. The man might've been used to all those underwater games, but it seemed like ages since he'd dived under. Seconds were ticking and there was no sign of him. Correction. Malcolm jumped to his feet. Far ahead the water was churning, welling up in agitated bubbles. He waded in a few steps, and – sure enough – it was Trip, twisting and turning. And...

"Bloody hell!"

Turning on his heels, Malcolm hurried out of the water, cursing the slippery pebbles which almost had him crashing back into it a couple of times. On the shore he rushed to his discarded clothes. Where was the damn pocket? His hand finally closed around his faithful knife, and off he took again, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

He splashed in precarious balance through the first metres. That knot in his throat was now a painful presence; as was the weight in his gut. But he knew what he had to do, and he would do it, and he would shut his demons out, and he would force his limbs to move, and he would lock his mind in a cage, and...

Malcolm dived and swam. He could see Trip's struggling form ahead through the water, that water so crystal-clear. He could see those tongues, the ones they had been checking out, not metal but alive all of a sudden, twisted around his ankles and one arm, pinning him down. They had sprung out from in-between those beautiful white pebbles and were snaking up, turning the idyllic place into a nightmare.

Trip seemed to be getting weaker. Bubbles of air were escaping from his lips. Bubbles of life. He was going to-

No. Malcolm refused to even _think_ the word. He was there, now. He raised his head from the water just long enough to fill his lungs with that thin air, and with a thrust of the back dived vertically down.

TBC

Looking forward to your comments


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers.

§ 3 §

Malcolm put a hand on Trip's shoulder, and the man turned in fright and shoved him away. He looked confused and badly in need of oxygen. There was one thing Malcolm could do about it, and though his instincts were all against it, the sight of his friend about to lose it and take that last, fatal, gulp was compelling enough that he overrode them. He grabbed Trip's head forcefully and put his lips to his, blowing precious air into his lungs.

A tug on his leg. Distracted by Trip's plight, he had been careless and one of those creatures had grabbed _him_, now. Malcolm's heart thumped painfully in his chest. After refilling Trip's lungs, his own oxygen meter was in the red. With mounting fear, he slashed frantically through the living snare that held him, and a cloud of purple blossomed in the water.

Malcolm kicked furiously, to get away as fast as possible from any more dangers. It was only some three meters of water, but it felt like ages before he bobbed up to the surface. He breathed greedily of the thin air, while his limbs tried to keep him afloat. Now that panic threatened to break the cage in which he'd locked it, treading water didn't seem that easy any more. His mind screamed _swim ashore_, but Trip's haunting image wouldn't let him be. Cursing a silent streak, he filled his lungs, and down he went again.

Trip looked close to panic himself. For a fraction of a second Malcolm debated whether to share his air with him again. If he kept doing that, though, they'd never come out of this predicament. No, he had to use the oxygen himself, this time, and hope for the best. Pushing off his friend, Malcolm went for the creatures that had Trip pinned down. He freed one of Trip's ankles, and then went for the other. The bloody things were springing up from everywhere. Malcolm kicked, anxious to keep his legs out of their reach, but there were just too many, and one of those snaking tongues twisted around his limb again.

It was his worst nightmare coming true. It loomed taller than ever, now that he felt trapped, a monster preying on him. For a moment things tumbled out of control. Flash-backs went through his mind, pictures of his family, of his life. A voice whispered that it was the end of the line. It took a great effort to silence it, but he managed to find a core of self-control. Time was ticking; Malcolm knew he didn't have much fuel in his tank left. He had to prioritize, and had quite clear in his mind what his duty was. Trip was tugging desperately at his last snare. Malcolm scrambled for his friend's arm, grabbed it, and managed to cut it lose from its captor. Right away Trip started upwards with eager strokes. Soon he was but a blur, a dark shape against the clouds of purple and the light that filtered through the water's surface.

Heart thumping, Malcolm turned to deal with the creature that had him pinned down by his ankle. His strength was seeping out quickly. Much too quickly. He was losing focus. His chest was on fire, he had to open his mouth and take _something_ in. He reached down and with the last of his forces tried to cut himself free. The knife slipped out of his hand, and he watched it, as if in a nightmare, float down to the bottom.

A scream erupted in his mind. Malcolm closed his eyes and opened his mouth.

* * *

><p>The water on this planet was... No adjective was bad enough to describe it. Malcolm spat out, trying to get the foul taste out of his mouth. No use; and before long, he was throwing up again. Weak with the effort, he curled up on himself and wrapped his arms around his midsection. His breathing came in laboured and raspy gasps, and he felt lousy, but that wasn't why he was bracing himself. He was bracing himself against the memories, which had triggered a shivering he could not control.<p>

"Atta a boy, spit it all out."

Trip, behind him, had a hand on his shoulder. In spite of the light words his voice was tight with worry, and Malcolm wondered if the man was aware that his grip was strong enough to hurt. He doubted it but said nothing and, especially, didn't turn, afraid that Trip would read too much in his face.

Malcolm's chest hurt with every breath he took. Hugging himself even tighter, he gave in to a violent fit of coughing, as his lungs reacted to what felt like an oppressing weight and tried to expel any residual drop of the disgusting liquid. Too bad at the same time he couldn't get rid of the haunting memories as well. He could remember everything. Up to the point, that was, when he hadn't been able to hold out any longer and the sneaking coldness had wound its way into his lungs. The curtain had fallen then, albeit with what had felt like agonising slowness.

Next he had known, he'd been on the beach, throwing up water under Trip's frantic ministrations. What had happened in between wasn't difficult to guess. Obviously, Trip had come back and freed him, and managed to drag him ashore and revive him.

"You scared the hell out of me," Trip muttered, sounding exhausted.

At long last the grip on Malcolm's shoulder relented, and Trip's hand lifted. Malcolm ventured a glance. Trip walked to his clothes and rummaged through them. He retrieved the communicator, and came back to him. "I guess we oughtta inform the Captain," he said deadpan, passing a hand through his short hair. He was still dripping wet. They both were; which meant they hadn't been out of the water for long; which meant it had all happened minutes ago. Malcolm stared back, unable to speak. All his efforts were going into keeping his teeth from chattering, which would be the last disgrace. He didn't need to feel any worse than he already did, and he didn't give a damn about what Archer's reaction would be. He just hoped the Captain wouldn't let his secret out, when he learnt what had happened.

Trip, though, was making no move to page the ship. His eyes were boring into him.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked with a frown of worry.

Good old Trip. Malcolm tried to utter a reassuring _yes_, but it came out as an unintelligible sound; nothing _but_ reassuring.

After another moment of silent scrutiny, Trip produced, seemingly from nowhere, the knife that had dropped out of Malcolm's hand. "This yours?" he asked with a faint smile.

Malcolm looked at it long and hard. Finally, he uncurled and reached with a shaky hand to take it. Damn it, no matter how hard he tried, he could not stop himself from trembling.

"You saved my life down there," Trip said, pronouncing every syllable. "And then you had no more air in your lungs to save your own. Hell, Malcolm, you should've-"

An acrid laugh gurgled in Malcolm's abused throat, triggering another fit of coughing and cutting Trip off. Malcolm pushed to sitting, no longer caring if Trip saw the state he was in. "Don't be so fast to make me a hero," he said, hating his quivering voice. "I could have cut myself loose too, but I _dropped_ the bloody knife. I lost it like an idiot and I-" His throat closed, and the fatal word, 'drowned', never came out.

Trip was looking at him as if he had never known him. Well, he did _not_ know him, not like this he didn't. Finally, the man shook his head in a slow but determined denial.

"Of course it slipped out of your hand." He blew out a breath. "Look, Malcolm, before you gave me that mouthful of air I was losing focus too. For a moment I didn't even recognise you, for heaven's sake. I wouldn't have been able to wield a knife, that's for sure. That's what happens when you're low on oxygen."

Maybe Trip was right. At present, though, Malcolm was too shaken to know right from wrong. He just hugged his knees and scrunched his eyes shut. In the silence that followed, he felt Trip's gaze on him. Finally, he heard him flick his communicator open.

"Tucker to Enterprise."

It was Archer who replied, tongue-in-cheek. "I thought I said ten minutes, you two."

Trip took a deep breath. "I know, Capt'n. We stumbled into a problem."

"What problem?"

Malcolm pictured Archer straighten in his chair. He felt like someone standing in the path of an unstoppable avalanche.

"We're okay, Sir." Trip's blue eyes shifted to Malcolm. "Sort of. But just to be on the safe side, can you have Phlox transport down?"

"Trip?" the Captain said, making the word an eloquent order to report.

Trip grimaced. "You know those metal tongues we took pictures of?"

_Never say never_. _Indeed_, Malcolm sarcastically mused.

TBC

Loving your comments! Keep them coming.


	4. Chapter 4

Here is the conclusion to this adventure. Cookies to all my readers and reviewers!

§ 4 §

"I had a bad feeling about this mission," Archer muttered, pacing just outside the launch bay as he waited for it to re-pressurize.

When Trip had told him what had happened, his heart had missed a beat. They had almost drowned? Good heavens! _Malcolm_ had almost _drowned_? For a moment he'd thought he was having a nightmare, but that was what Trip had said, wasn't it, in a voice that was a careful mix of deference and compunction.

"I knew something was going to happen," Archer went on, almost to himself.

"That is illogical," T'Pol, the voice of reason, immediately commented.

She stood immobile, hands latched behind her in that typical way of hers, and, as always, looked the picture of serenity. Archer suppressed a surge of frustration. Sometimes he wished his SIC was a bit more... empathic. On the other hand, T'Pol couldn't know the real reason for his agitation; she wasn't privy to the fact that their Armoury Officer was terrified just of that one thing that had almost happened to him, of drowning. Neither was Trip. Now that he thought of it, in Trip's voice there _had_ been a note of puzzlement. He didn't dare think what might have passed between the two, down there.

"Undoubtedly, the negative record the Commander and Lieutenant have when they go on a mission together influenced your feelings," T'Pol said. "The opposite has no scientific foundations, Captain."

"It's called a premonition, T'Pol," Archer insisted. "And – I don't care how unscientific it may be – I had one."

T'Pol's only reply was a doubtful lift of the eyebrows.

The light turned green. Without delay, Archer pushed the door open and stepped onto the elevated platform, followed by his Vulcan Officer. It seemed like ages before the shuttlepod's upper hatch opened, but finally it did; the ladder was extended, and Trip's blond head emerged.

Archer watched him take a couple of steps, then glance up. Their eyes met, and Trip pulled his face in a lopsided grimace. Malcolm emerged too, with Phlox right on his heels, and Archer's gaze shifted to his Armoury Officer. He gave him the once over, taking in his drawn features and the defeated air about him.

"Capt'n, I'm sorry," Trip soulfully said, reaching the platform. "I don't know where those damn things came from. Malcolm had scanned the water..."

The words skimmed on Archer's consciousness. "You okay, Trip?" he asked mechanically, sparing the man but a glance. His eyes were compellingly drawn to Malcolm, and even Trip's answer was lost on him. He wanted to capture Malcolm's eye, to assess just how traumatic the experience had been. Finally the grey gaze lifted.

"Lieutenant?"

He had meant to sound neutral, as for Trip, but failed miserably. That unexpected confession, out on Enterprise's hull, had entirely changed his perspective on his Armoury Officer. Malcolm had seemed so flawless before, but now that Archer knew better he felt all that much more protective of the man.

"I'm fine, Sir," Malcolm said huskily, carefully avoiding his gaze as he joined them on the platform. He looked almost bereaved.

Damn it, but he'd done it: he'd succeeded in making Malcolm feel under a magnifying glass. Archer caught Trip frowning. Even T'Pol seemed confused by Reed's uncharacteristic frailty and by what was obviously going unsaid between them. Fortunately the awkward moment was broken by a fit of coughing. If Malcolm had done it on purpose, Archer would never know, but either way it was a relief.

Phlox took the Lieutenant gently by one arm. "They'll be fine, Captain," the Doctor said reassuringly.

Phlox, of course, as their CMO, was the only other person on board privy to Malcolm's secret, and Archer realised the good Denobulan was indeed addressing the subtext here, speaking in the plural but silently telling him 'don't worry, he's a bit shaken but it will pass'.

"But now I need to give them a thorough check-up," the Doctor added in his upbeat tone.

"I'm okay," Trip started to complain.

Archer locked eyes with him for the first time. "Go to Sickbay, Commander. And that's an order," he said sternly.

Trip's shoulders sagged. "Aye, Sir."

They followed Phlox and Malcolm along the corridor.

"I will be awaiting your report, Commander," T'Pol said. "I wish to investigate how these creatures were able avoid detection from both Enterprise's and the Lieutenant's scanners."

"I'd like to know that too," Trip muttered.

He kept glancing ahead, his mind seemingly there, with the advancing forms of Phlox and Malcolm.

"I have a theory," T'Pol went on obliviously. "But I shall have to-"

"Capt'n..."

Trip had suddenly stopped. T'Pol, who had been cut off in mid-sentence, and Archer followed suit, turning.

Trip's eyes shifted between the two. "Can I have a word with ya?" he said, with a self-conscious jerk of the head. "I mean – privately."

Archer hesitated. If he knew Trip – and he liked to think that he did – the man had latched on to the fact that there was something wrong with Malcolm. He heaved an inner sigh. He never would have imagined aqua-phobia being a problem on a starship in the middle of the universe. But then again, he bet Malcolm hadn't either.

"You go ahead, I'll be along in a moment," he told T'Pol. He watched her nod obligingly and leave, before he took a step back towards his Chief Engineer.

"What's up?" Archer enquired.

"That's what I was gonna ask you," Trip said, putting his hands on his hips. "And don't tell me you don't know 'cause, with all due respect, Capt'n, you're a bit too obvious and I'm no dumbass. What's going on with Malcolm?"

Archer heaved a deep breath. "Look, Trip, I'm not at liberty to say. So – don't ask. Not even Malcolm. And that's another order."

Trip blinked, stunned into silence. "Oh," he eventually croaked out.

"He'll be okay, don't worry." Archer grabbed his friend's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He could only imagine what had happened down on the planet in those few minutes, but it couldn't have been the _fun_ the two had been looking for. "Shall we go?" he asked, since there was nothing he could add.

They walked on in silence, with Trip looking more puzzled than before.

* * *

><p>Trip had been dismissed from Sickbay almost right away and told to take it easy. He had gone to his quarters, had taken a long shower, and then dropped into bed and slept soundly. Phlox had kept Malcolm, though, and the next morning Trip had gone to check on him. He had found that he was better, but still Phlox wouldn't let him go. Trip's thoughts kept going there, to Malcolm and his mysterious problem. So, to take his mind off, he had buried himself in Engineering and got lost in work.<p>

He was running a diagnostic, up on the Warp Drive platform, when he heard a clearing of the throat. He looked down to see, at the bottom of the ladder, the very man he had worked hard to put out of his mind. Malcolm had changed into a blue uniform, and could almost fool one into thinking that he was back to his normal self. Almost.

"Hey," Trip said, trying not to make it obvious that he was studying him. "Finally got the green light from Phlox?" He felt a sudden pang of conscience for not going back to Sickbay during the day.

"Ah – yes." Malcolm tightened his lips and squared his shoulders. "Commander, I would like you to go over a few calculations," he said. "It's that stable EM field I'm trying to develop. I think I could use your help."

There was an awkwardness about him that brought Trip back to the beginning of their mission, when Malcolm had been uptight and uncomfortable around him. And who was he trying to fool? Trip knew for sure there was nothing wrong with Malcolm's calculations; the man was more than capable, for heaven's sake, and proud enough of his EM field project to keep it jealously to himself, usually. So why was he here, then?

Silence was stretching, and Trip saw Malcolm fidget. "Sure," he said, hiding his considerations behind a smile.

Grabbing the ladder, he climbed down. When he got to the bottom, he looked around for a place where they could have some peace and quiet, and suddenly realised that Engineering _was_ quiet, and working on a skeleton complement. He glanced at the time. It was past twenty-two-hundred-hours. "Hell, you know what time it is?" he blurted out.

Malcolm's face muscles twitched. "It is rather late," he said in his clipped British accent. He switched off the pad, his movements just as jerky, brow fleetingly creasing. "I apologise, this can wait."

"Ah – no, look, I didn't mean it that way." Trip cursed his stupidity. "It's that I lost myself in work and didn't realise it was this late." He passed a hand through his hair. "I don't mind having a look at that. We can go to my 'office'," he said, mimicking quotation marks.

Even his so-called office, nothing more than a corner in Engineering, was quiet enough at this hour, especially if they were orbiting a planet, as they still were on T'Pol's request, and the engines were idle.

"Commander, this isn't... I mean it's really not all that important."

"Nonsense."

Malcolm suddenly deflated, dismissing with a slump of the shoulders the all-business Lieutenant Reed. "Look, Trip, I'm sorry. We'd both better get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow." And he made to turn and go.

"Hey, hey." Trip caught him by one arm. He captured Malcolm's eye. "This has nothing to do with your EM project, right?"

Malcolm didn't answer, but he didn't need to.

"Come on," Trip said, in no uncertain terms.

And without giving Malcolm any real choice, he led the way out of Engineering.

* * *

><p>Sat rather stiffly in Trip's desk chair, Malcolm hadn't taken a sip of his beer yet. Trip felt bad for the man. He knew him well enough by now. He and duty were one. After what had happened, Malcolm undoubtedly felt it a duty to come out into the open with him; except that, whatever his big secret was, it was something he'd much rather keep to himself.<p>

"I suppose you've been asking yourself questions," Malcolm finally said, in a cavernous voice, carefully keeping his focus on the bottle of beer in his hands, as if he had never seen one before.

"Ah – you mean like why the hell the Capt'n kept lookin' at you as if you had grown a second head?" Trip wondered, lifting his eyebrows à la T'Pol.

Malcolm's eyes came up fleetingly, and one corner of his mouth pulled up in an improbable half-smile. Indeed, a grimace.

"Yeah," Trip went on, "as a matter of fact I have been askin' myself questions. But whatever it is, don't feel-"

"I'm aqua-phobic."

Trip, who hadn't expected such a straight confession, was dumbstruck for a long moment. "Aqua-phobic?" he eventually repeated, slowly enough to make it two distinct words. "'fraid of the water?"

Malcolm looked away. "Afraid of drowning."

Trip's tongue went on strike again. His brain was too busy contemplating the picture that was quickly forming, as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place one by one: Malcolm's reluctance to talk about beaches, his lack of enthusiasm for going in the water; his refusal to race him to that rock, and... Ah, hell. Trip cringed, shocked at the thought of what demons Malcolm must have fought to come and rescue him.

"I suppose I should've told you before," Malcolm said tightly. "You had a right to know, as my Commanding Officer on an away mission." He swallowed hard. "Especially when said mission ended up on a beach."

Yes, even Archer's wariness to let them take those ten minutes of R&R now was entirely clear. Because Archer, obviously, knew.

"Why on earth, then, did you tell the Capt'n you were okay with going swimming?" Trip wondered. He remembered well. Archer had yielded only after Malcolm had told him he was fine with the idea of a quick swim.

Malcolm winced. "This is bad enough without my stupid phobia being a burden to others."

Trip blew out a long, slow breath and lowered himself on the bed. "There is nothing stupid about a phobia, Malcolm."

"Really?"

The word had come out as a soft, sarcastic snort, and Trip surmised that had something to do with the Reeds' long-line-of-navy-men story; he didn't venture to ask, though. He could see that it was a touchy subject for Malcolm. More than that. He could see how it pained him to talk about it.

"There is nothing stupid about it," he repeated. "And it's nothing to feel ashamed about."

"Yeah. Well. In any case..." Malcolm tightened his lips and his grey eyes grew expressive. "Thank you for saving my life."

Now that was something. Malcolm could be such an ass.

"You've got to be kidding me," Trip burst out. "Aren't you forgetting that you got into trouble only because you rescued me in the first place?" A pang of compunction unexpectedly gripped him, and he bit his lip, studying his friend's drawn face. "I put you in a real spot, didn't I, having to come for me," he muttered. "I should be thanking _you_, not the opposite."

"I only did my duty," Malcolm said in a low, baritone voice that spoke volumes of how he felt about the entire affair. "And I should be able to look after myself, after all."

Of course. When it came to judging his own actions Malcolm was absolutely inflexible. Trip heaved an inner sigh. "It seems to me that you did much more than _only_ your duty, Malcolm," he said. "You mastered your greatest fear. As for looking after yourself..." Jerking his head to one side, Trip let his mouth curve up. "Okay, so in the end you needed a bit of help too. Turns out you're not perfect. Big deal. Welcome to the club."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I never thought it would be a problem, in space," Malcolm murmured. "I mean, what were the chances..." He looked up, meeting Trip's gaze with eyes that were a bit lost. "That's why I went into Starfleet. If I had imagined..."

The rest of the sentence hung in the air.

"So what would you have done instead?" Trip wondered. "Gone into some safe, boring line of work?" Resolutely, he added, "This is your life, Malcolm. What you are good at. Don't you worry, I doubt there'll be many oceans to drown in, on our mission."

"You really think so?" Malcolm frowned. "That my place is here, I mean, as a Security Officer. I shouldn't have..." He grimaced, seemingly reluctant to spell things out; then concluded darkly, "I shouldn't have a _phobia_, doing what I do."

Trip captured the grey gaze. "You've proven that you're strong enough to overcome it. That's the important thing. Besides," he added, narrowing his eyes, "I would never trust a Security Officer who had no fears."

Malcolm shook his head, but something about him had changed, perhaps in the set of his shoulders, which seemed less rigid.

Trip raised his bottle. "To the _Disaster Twins_. May they continue to explore new worlds and come back safe and sound, no matter what the universe throws at them. Oh – and may all those damn creatures work themselves into knots and choke to death," he concluded deadpan.

Malcolm's eyebrows lifted. "Hear, hear," he said softly.

They sat for a while longer, like good friends. Malcolm had a way of bouncing back, no matter what. He was a very resilient man, and that, as far as Trip was concerned, was a more important quality for a Tactical and Security Officer than being without fears.

After taking another sip, Malcolm tilted his bottle and looked at its content. Or lack thereof. He shrugged and stood up. "We should call it a day," he said, placing the empty bottle on Trip's desk. "I'm still on light duty tomorrow, but you, I understand, are not."

Trip chuckled. "Phlox always treats you with kid gloves," he teased, well aware that light duty for Malcolm was equal to torture.

Malcolm rolled his eyes.

They walked to the door.

"So... about those calculations?" Trip wondered.

"Ah –" Malcolm banged the pad lightly against the palm of one hand. "Maybe another day."

_Sure thing_, Trip thought to himself. But secretly he was happy his friend has come to him with that excuse, for Malcolm's demons could be pretty bad, and this was certainly top of the list. He was glad he had been able to help him with it.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Commander."

As the man turned to go, Trip asked, with his sweetest smile, "Hey, aren't ya gonna kiss me good-night?"

Malcolm frowned, uncomprehendingly. But realisation soon dawned on his face.

"That was to give you oxygen," he said, with a dangerous glare. "I forbid you to spread tendentious rumours."

They were cut off by the sound of steps approaching, and of canine nails on deck-plating. Archer was taking Porthos on his night stroll.

"Trip, Malcolm," the Captain said, his eyes running the two officers up and down. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, Sir." Malcolm dutifully straightened his stance. He cleared his throat. "I... was just leaving. Good night, Captain, Commander."

"Good night, Lieutenant," Archer replied for them both.

"Ah – Malcolm..." Trip called, as the man was about to round the corner in the corridor. "About that last thing you said... don't really count on it."

"Respectfully, it would be a terrible mistake, Commander," Malcolm replied.

His voice had been kept carefully neutral. _Too_ carefully neutral. Trip knew it to be subtly threatening. He responded with a shrug, and watched Malcolm nod sharply and disappear behind the bend.

"What was that all about," Archer wondered, curiosity lighting up his green gaze, under the frown that topped it. "Anything I should worry about?"

"Ah, no, Capt'n," Trip said. "Everything's good."

Archer studied Trip one moment longer; then, with a 'come on, Porthos', he resumed his walk, missing the smile that was spreading on his Chief Engineer's face.

THE END

Contrary to Trip's reassurances I guess Malcolm will find out that there are plenty more oceans, in space, in which he can drown! At least until fanfiction and DMM exist! :-) Looking forward to a last review.


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